The Adventure Goes On
by julietfletcher
Summary: Set during Season 8, Sam and Dean stumble across some valuable information while taking a day off. I don't own any of the characters from Supernatural. IMPORTANT: If you'd like, read my story "Night at the Museum" before reading this. It acts a little like Part 1 to this story!
1. Chapter 1

Sam felt the warm rays of sun penetrate his skin, and his eyes cracked open. It seemed brighter than most mornings, and he turned to glance at the clock on the bedside table. The shimmering numbers said it was a little after nine.

Nine?! Holy crap.

Sam sat up, rubbing his eyes, feeling tired. The kind of tired that one felt when they got to bed late and slept in late. It was horrible. "Dean…"

His brother was lying on the other bed, dressed and showered, eating breakfast and surfing Sam's computer. "Morning, sunshine." He grinned.

"Why didn't you wake me up?" Sam slipped his legs over the side of the bed.

"I thought that maybe, just maybe, we should take the day off."

Sam blinked, watching his brother closely. This just wasn't like the Dean he was used to. Lately, since Dean got back from Hell and turned Sam's semi-normal life back into one of hunting monsters, he was all work no play. "What's going on?"

"It's time for a break. That's all."

Sam stood up, wincing a little at his sore muscles. Maybe Dean was right. Maybe all this physical work was getting to them, and they needed to take it easy for a day.

Sam leaned over and snapped his laptop shut, pulling it from Dean. "I told you to stay off my computer."

Dean made a face, muttering something that Sam didn't want to go back and figure out. "So what do you say? Should we take a little vacation?"

Sam shrugged. He walked to the tiny motel room bathroom, running the sink water. "What did you have in mind?"

"I thought I'd let you choose."

Sam paused and turned around. This was beyond Dean feeling lazy. This was just strange. Somehow Sam thought this was all going to turn sour in a moment or two. "Seriously, Dean. What's going on with you?"

Dean stood up, smiling, shaking his head. "It's your birthday, Sammy. Happy birthday."

Sam blinked. How did he forget? Actually, the answer was obvious. Birthdays with the Winchesters were littler more than a passing "happy birthday" in the morning, extra time for training during the day, and if the boys were lucky, maybe a cake and a gift.

"Thanks for remembering, Dean," Sam said with a grin. It felt good to smile in a genuine way again. Hadn't happened in a while. "But I don't think we should take the day off."

"Oh, shut up," Dean announced. He grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. "We are going to celebrate like never before. We're going to party like we should have partied when we were kids. Now get ready. I'm going to find you some breakfast." And Dean was out the door, shutting it behind him.

Sam blinked. This just wasn't Dean. This wasn't the hard, cold, angry, hell-twisted Dean that showed up at their hideaway cabin up in the woods two weeks earlier. Something was going on, and Sam made a mental note to find out exactly what it was.

In the meantime, Sam decided he'd enjoy this day. Maybe it'd be a taste of normal life. That thought brought his mind back to the dog he hit, the dark haired veterinarian, the moments he shared with her, her husband coming back from the dead, him walking out of her life as quickly as he stumbled into it…

Sam splashed cool water into his face, trying to forget. He'd get ready for Dean and enjoy his birthday.

Ten minutes later Dean returned with a healthy, dry looking bran muffin and vitamin water. Sam accepted it with some relief. He half expected Dean to return with a cheese-burger and soda—Dean's favorite food for any meal of the day.

He ate in silence, watching Dean disassemble and assemble a small handgun over and over again. After his time in hell, when he'd used the kind of weapons you see in torcher chambers in movies to defend himself, it'd taken Dean a while to adapt back to the small, more practical (in Sam's opinion) weapons he stored in the trunk of the Impala.

"When's the last time we celebrated a birthday?" Dean broke the silence. His voice had a sad tone to it.

Sam thought. "Maybe when you turned eighteen."

Dean snorted but didn't answer.

Sam tossed the muffin wrapper and plastic bottle in the trash can. "Doesn't matter."

"You're right." Dean stood up, shaking his head. He tucked the little pistol in his belt under his jacket. "Let's go somewhere, Sammy. You pick."

"I don't know. Maybe we'll just drive a little. Check out this town we're in."

"Fine." Dean fished into his jacket and pulled out the keys, heading for the door. "But I'm driving."

Sam didn't argue, just smiled, enjoying this glimpse of the old Dean. The Dean before hell that wore a smirk and flirted with every pretty girl he saw. It was his way of transcending their circumstances, Sam thought, and he always respected Dean for that ability. Sam was never like that. He always took their life seriously, too seriously most of the time, and often it got him down. He _craved _a different life when he knew he should just accept the one he had.

Sam followed Dean out, deciding that for today, it was _okay _to feel free. To enjoy a normal life for 24 hours.

_Thanks, Dean._


	2. Chapter 2

The town of Chautauqua, New York turned out to be a pretty, quaint place that seemed to hold a lot of history in its streets. The brothers passed a couple of large, old brick courthouses with white stone fountains that bubbled in the nicely manicured front lawns; an outdoor stage, complete with a sign advertising a ballet group that would perform there in the next couple of days; and a main street lined with old fashioned cafes, a library, a theater, a drugstore, an auto body shop, and a couple houses. The rest of the houses sat down small backstreets that appeared here and there.

After taking a spin around the entire town, Dean parked in front of the library according to Sam's request.

Dean skeptically peered up at the small building that resembled an old fashioned cottage. "Why would you want to go in that place?"

"It's a library, Dean. I want to see what kind of lore books they might have in a place like this." Sam stepped out, closing the door and breathing in the crisp air. Dean might rather be in a club in the city, but Sam loved the older country towns. He leaned back down to look at Dean, still in the driver's seat, through the window. "Are you coming?"

Dean rolled his eyes, heaving a sight, but still stepped from the car. He locked the Impala, shoving the keys protectively in his jacket.

Sam led the way up the few, stone steps to the front door. It creaked when he pushed it open. A moment later the brothers were met with a flurry of scents. Old wood, dusty books, lilacs in a vase somewhere… It all came to together to smell like _wisdom._

The floors were clearly old wooden boards, nailed together, sanded down to be smooth. Tall shelves of books stretched in row after row, and scattered here and there was a table and chair. It appeared to be empty. Even the small desk that sat by the doorway was vacant.

"It looked smaller on the outside," Dean commented, his gaze cynical and not the least bit appreciative.

"Isn't is amazing? I wish all libraries looked like this."

"If all libraries looked like this, they'd all go out of business."

"Can I help you, boys?"

Sam and Dean turned to see and small elderly lady standing behind the desk. She must have walked up as silent as a mouse while Dean was degrading the beautiful place. Sam glared at Dean who shrugged.

"No, ma'am," Sam replied. "We're just looking around. Thank you anyway."

The lady smiled at him and nodded, a warm glow in her eyes. "Very well. If you need me I'll be around." She sat at the desk, pointedly avoiding Dean's eyes, and began placing cards in a pile of books.

Sam and Dean walked on, Sam peering at the labels on the ends of the bookshelves that said what kinds of book that row held. At the end of the library, in a row that appeared the most dusty and untouched, the label read "Mythology, Lore."

"Here we are," Sam murmured, moving in. His eyes carefully scanned the old bindings. "They have a large variety. Strange for a small library, huh?"

"Not really. Seems to me that this town probably has tons of lore connected to it. Most small towns do. Sometimes it's all that keeps them alive." Dean glanced absentmindedly at the ceiling then sighed. He felt his for his handgun, the cool metal familiar and comfortable. How on earth did Sam enjoy this old place?

"Oh my…" Sam reached up to the top shelf and pulled down a very thin book. It was wedged between two other volumes, but surprisingly was the only one that wasn't caked with dust.

"What?" Dean looked around his brother's shoulder.

"The title of this book is _Kamenwati: The Beginning_."

Dean's face tightened. "Should we call Bobby?"

"Let's read it first."

Dean rolled his eyes. "_You_ read it first. I'm going to grab a snack. Want anything?"

Sam shook his head, putting the book under his arm and heading for a table in the back corner. "No, Dean. Besides, you can't bring food into the library."

"Oh, holy…" Dean turned on his shoe and fast-walked out.

Sam smiled and took a seat, marveling at how different he and his brother were.

Opening the book, Sam skimmed the table of contents. Chapter one, Birth of the King; Chapter two, First Days; Chapter 3, Power Awakened; Chapter 4, Divided… This was a novel. A work of fiction. At least it was _seemed _to be written that way.

Sam opened to "Power Awakened," and read the first few sentences. "The king, the mighty Kamenwati, awoke to find himself hungry. He ate fine meats and drank wine, but nothing satisfied his ever empty soul." Sam blinked. _His every empty soul. _He read on, a feeling of uneasiness settling on him.

"He tasted new things and old, but nothing satisfied like before. He walked back and forth in his gardens, full of rage, hungry, ever hungry. Then suddenly a scent rose from a nearby hill. The king followed, and it led him to a mortal man. The man was dead. Kamenwati sliced the mortal man's chest open and drank the soul that was inside. Only then was he satisfied."

Sam barely finished the last sentence before he fished his phone from his pocket. As Bobby's phone dialed, Sam flipped to Chapter 4. "The mortal soul ate the King from the inside out, finally tearing his body to shreds. The great king's soul spread to all the land, to reign forever in the bodies of mortal men, feasting forever in triumph on their souls, growing into a kingdom fit for Kamenwati's glory."

"Hello." It was Bobby.

"Bobby, it's Sam."

"Oh, happy birthday."

"You remembered too?"

"No, Dean told me. Anyway, why'd you call?"

Sam flipped the book back to the cover. "Dean and I are in a small town in New York, and we stopped at the library. You'll never guess what I found."

"Don't keep me waiting." Bobby's voice lacked any enthusiasm.

"I was looking in the Mythology/Lore section and, get this, I found a book titled "Kamenwati: The Beginning."

There was a long pause on the other end of the phone. "You mean _the _Kamenwati. The monster from the unfinished museum case?"

Sam bit his lip, wincing a little at the emphasis the older man put on the word _unfinished_. Ever since the monster left the museum without a trace before the brothers could kill it, Bobby hasn't let it go. He reminded them both what John would think of that, something Sam didn't want to consider.

"Yes," Sam replied tightly, "that's the one. But I think we were wrong about its powers. This book might give us some insight on how to track it down and kill it. And maybe where its origins are."

"You think its origins may be the town you're in?"

"That's what I'm going to find out. Talk to you soon, Bobby."

Sam hung up, set the phone down, and ran his hands through his hair. Could this be a lead? Could this town actually be the origin of the Kamenwati? Sam didn't really know where that thought came from, but it seemed viable.

Sam stood up, determined to find the librarian, and turned to face Dean. His older brother raised his eyebrows. "What's going on?" He had two coffees in his hands.

"I talked to Bobby. I'm going to learn a little more about this book." Sam raised the thin paperback into the air. He took one of the coffees and started down the library isle. Dean jogged to catch up.

"Sammy, it's your birthday. We can't do a case."

"That's not you speaking, Dean." Sam was determined not to let a possible lead slip through his fingers. It didn't matter that it was his birthday. It never mattered before, why should it now?

"Where are you headed?" Dean asked, sipping his coffee. He made a face. "I didn't ask for sugar or cream. I wanted it black."

"Dean, this is important. We need to find the librarian."

Dean snorted. "She won't talk to me."

Sam looked around the bookshelves and at the reception desk. The lady wasn't there. Then he spotted her on the other side of the library, reaching up to re-shelf a book. Sam hurried over.

"Hello, again. Do you have a minute to answer some questions?"

The lady smiled and adjusted her glasses, straightening some books. "Why, of course, dears. Follow me."

Instead of leading them back to the desk like Sam thought she would, the lady let them to a door which opened into a small office. It was painstakingly clean, tidy, and polished, with a wooden desk and a few chairs. A few novels sat along the edges of the walls, probably collectors editions of classic works.

The lady sat on one side of the desk, motioning to chairs on the other. "Please, have a seat."

Sam sat immediately, and Dean followed suit, a little reluctantly. He still looked like he'd rather been in L.A. with much younger women.

"Now then, how can I help you, boys?"

Sam set the book on the desk, flipping it around so it faced the lady and sliding it towards her. "I have some questions about this book. Do you know anything about it?"

The picked up the book and squinted at the title through her spectacles. Finally, as if at last reading it, she smiled, just a little less warmly than before. "You want to know about this myth?"

Sam leaned back, hearing the cynicism in her sweet, old lady voice. "You called that book myth. Tell me why?"

"Because it's just a story about a monster, dear."

"But not all myth is just a story. Some is real."

"Are you saying this story really happened?"

"No, ma'am, I'm asking you if _you_ think it did."

There was a pause on her side. She took off her spectacles, rubbed them, put them back on. Dean sipped his coffee, serious now, waiting.

"I'm not sure I do," she said at last. "But I'm not sure it didn't."

Sam nodded, content with the answer. He took the book back when the librarian handed it forward, opening the front cover. He found the author's name immediately. "Do you know who Marcus Williams is?"

"I do indeed. He's a… eccentric man. Very eccentric. He lives on Peach Road with is just off Main Street."

"He lives in town?"

The librarian nodded. She took out a pen and wrote a note on a piece of lined paper. She folded it, handing it to Sam. "I'm assuming you'll want to follow up with him, so here's his address."

Sam glanced at Dean and took it. "Thank you for all your help." He stood to leave. "Oh. I'd like to check out this book."

The librarian shook her head, slowly getting to her feet. She went around the desk and pulled a book of her small shelf. "Here, have your own copy."

She gave Sam another copy of the book. "Get to the bottom of it, and come tell me."

Sam smiled in thanks, and he and Dean left the little office. They walked back through the old library in silence. Dean unlocked the Impala, opening the door for Sam.

Once they were inside, Dean tapped the wheel. He sat back and looked at his little brother. "So now what?"

Sam blinked. "You're letting me call the shots?"

"I'm letting you try it out for your birthday. But don't get any long term ideas."

Sam smiled, enjoying the feeling of being in control, and decided he should be able to feel it more often. "I say we go to the eccentric Mr. Williams home and ask him some questions." He lay the address on the dash, and Dean glanced at it.

Dean started the Impala and pulled away from the old library.


	3. Chapter 3

Mr. Williams' house turned out to be a Victorian style mansion with white brick walls and pillars at the door. The Impala turned into a long, blacktop driveway the split between a marble fountain and connected again in front of the looming steps. It was like a miniature Whitehouse.

"See this, Sammy," Dean commented, rolling down his window and glancing up at the five stories. "This is where you should be living right now."

Sam snorted. "No, thank you. I'll start with just a regular home." _And a beautiful wife and kids… _Sam shook his head, stepping out of the Impala. It was time to focus.

The brothers climbed the steps and Sam pounded the lion shaped golden knocker against the dark wood doors. After a minute one of them loomed open and a young maid in a black dress and white apron appeared.

She raised her eyebrows at Dean, a hint of a smile forming, then shook her head, as if coming back into reality from a wonderful dream. "Hello. How may I help you?"

"We're here to see Mr. Williams."

"Oh, uh, do come in." The maid stepped aside, allowing the boys to enter.

They stepped into a grand corridor. The floors were light green polished stone, the walls were white and vast, and doors led everywhere. A little ways ahead was a winding staircase. The maid gestured to the first door on the left. "Please, follow me. This is the waiting room. Mr. Williams will be here shortly."

Sam and Dean entered a cozy room that resembled a den, with a fireplace, a desk in the corner, a bookshelf, and four red velvet chairs in a circle around a wood table. A silver tea set sat on the table, steam drifting from the teapot. It was like Mr. Williams was already expecting company.

The maid left, leaving the brothers alone.

Sam and Dean continued to glance around, speechless. Finally, Dean broke the silence. "How could someone live like this?"

Sam shook his head. He wandered to the bookshelf, glancing at the titles. Most were psychological books, history texts, and, of course, a few copies of "Kamenwati: The Beginning." On the bottom shelf were quite a few other mythology books. Nothing else caught Sam's attention.

There was a small knock and the boys turned to see a stout, middle-aged man with a tussle of gray hair and pointy, black eyes in a perfectly pressed suit, standing in the doorway. Despite his overall dull appearance, his flashy white smile made him look delighted to see them.

"Hello, hello, hello!" the little man exclaimed, walking forward with a good deal of dignity and class. With a grand gesture of his arm, he pointed to the ring of chairs. "Do have a seat so we may discuss whatever brings you out to my humble abode."

Sam could almost hear Dean's snort.

"Yes, thank you," Sam said, sitting a bit gingerly on the plush chairs. "I'm Sam Winchester and this is my brother Dean. We were just here on our way home and were looking in your lovely home town library. We found a book you wrote." Sam pulled out his copy of "Kamenwati: The Beginning." "I skimmed through it and, uh, we just have some questions."

"Well," Mr. Williams smiled, "I'm a busy, busy man, but I always have time for my fans."

Sam shot Dean a look and managed a tight smile. "Yes, well, first off, do you believe what you wrote in your book as truth?"

Mr. Williams laughed stiffly. "What do you mean?"

"It's simple, genius," Dean remarked, annoyed. "Is the story you wrote about Kamenwati based on real facts. _Did it happen_?"

"I…" Mr. Williams smiled. "I'd like to believe it did."

Sam licked his lips and looked at Dean. Dean's face was hard, serious.

"Where do you think the, uh, _division_ of the Kamenwati happened?"

Mr. William's shrugged, looking a little uncomfortable. "To tell you boys the truth, I think it happened in my backyard."

Dean's rubbed his forehead. Sam could tell he was working hard to restrain himself.

Sam stood up. "Can we see why you think this?"

"Sure." For a man who wrote a book on his own theory, Mr. Williams didn't seem very convinced at the moment.

The brothers followed the older man out of the waiting room, across the stone floors, around the left side of the staircase, through a living room with at least five fur couches and a tiger floor rug, and out a sliding glass door.

The backyard was vast, like everything else in the house, perfectly green, flat, and mowed with a couple gentle sprinklers trickling here and there. It was probably four times the size of the Winchester's old back yard in Lawrence, Kansas.

Mr. Williams led them off a whitewashed porch and through the lawn until they reached a gate. He pointed past the gate where the yard seemed to extend. Here it wasn't quite as perfectly flat. "Do you see that hill there?"

Sam did notice a small rise in the yard. He wouldn't necessarily call it a _hill, _but it was something. "Sure."

"I believe that's where Kamenwati first ate the human soul, and where he would later explode, spreading himself out to the world."

"You have any proof?" Dean was skeptical.

"Yes, well, I did some digging in that area of my yard, and found a few curious things. First, some bones. They formed a fairly complete skeleton, enough to see that they came from a human male. They were about two hundred years old. Behind those bones we found a skull. Not a human skull, mind you. An odd shaped skull that resembled the Kamenwati's head from all historical pictures I've ever seen." He paused to take a breath. "You both look lost."

Dean chuckled, rolling his eyes and rubbing the tip of his nose. Sam just smiled, trying to look polite. "We aren't lost. Please continue."

Mr. Williams waved them to follow, starting back for the house. "I see, I see. You're a bit doubtful. Perhaps of my knowledge. That's alright. I get it a lot. I can assure you boys, however, that I am quite learned it my area of expertise—mythology."

They walked in silence back through the house and into the waiting room. Mr. Williams again sat, this time pouring himself a steaming cup of tea. He raised the teapot to the brothers.

"Uh, no thanks."

"Suit yourselves." Mr. Williams took a sip. "Any other questions?"

"Do you know how to kill a Kamenwati?" Dean asked.

"There's only one way to kill one, and I currently have it." Mr. Williams leaned forward. "You have to dip the bone of the first man to have his soul eaten, way back then, in the blood of another man and stab it in the Kamenwati's heart."

"And it doesn't matter what the Kamenwati is possessing?"

Mr. Williams shook his head.

Sam looked at Dean then back at the author. "Any chance we could borrow some of that bone?"


	4. Chapter 4

Heading back through town to the motel, Sam inspected the piece of arm bone in his hand. It was smooth, thin, and brittle, but very intact. Mr. Williams must have preserved them excellently. Sam hoped it wouldn't break while plunging it into the Kamenwati.

"So," Dean spoke up, turning down the radio, "what exactly did the princess say about the Kamenwati being one being?"

Sam sighed. "The princess being Mr. Williams?"

"Who else? He drank tea from a tea set and lived in a palace."

"Dean…never mind. Mr. Williams mentioned that when the Kamenwati divided, his _main _soul—whatever that is—became the most powerful of all the others. In fact, it is what keeps the others alive. So, if we go after the main soul and kill it, it should destroy any other Kamenwati's out there."

"Nice."

Sam put the bone back in the bag. "Yeah, I'd say. And the main soul should be in town on of these nights, because he comes back to his kingdom ever ten years. Problem is, we won't know who or what it will possess."

"Yikes."

Sam looked at his older brother, studying his face.

Dean glanced over, eyebrows raised. "What?"

Sam looked back at the road. "Nothing."

Dean waited. He'd known Sam long enough to detect a lie.

Sam sighed. "Okay. It…It's just that it doesn't seem like you're committed to this case. At all. That's not you, Dean, and it should be."

"You sound like dad, Sammy."

Sam opened his mouth, but the words wouldn't come. _What is Dean saying? Why is he bringing up dad? _

"What's going on, Dean?"

Dean shook his head, saying nothing.

"We're brothers. We don't keep secrets from each other."

Dean snorted. He pulled into the motel driveway.

"Answer me, Dean!"

Dean looked at Sam, something like contempt and pity in his eyes, and turned the car off. He stepped out, shutting the door and heading for the motel.

Sam watched him from inside the Impala, staring as the motel door closed. He ran a hand through his hair, blinking back tears. This wasn't Dean…

Or was it? Maybe the taste of the old Dean was only for a couple hours that morning and the old, purgatory scarred Dean was back.

Sam opened the door at last, stepping into the cool afternoon air, the bag with the bone clutched in his hand. He paused for a moment, glancing at the motel door, then turning away. He walked back down the driveway and started off on the sidewalk.

He passed a few people who waved and smiled, passed the café, passed the re-sale store, and paused before the bar. It reminded Sam of Jo and Ellen's place, bringing a small, sad smile of remembrance to Sam's lips. The thought of Ellen brought thoughts of John and Dean's comment…_You sound like dad, Sammy_…

Shaking his head, Sam took a breath and pushed through the bar doors.

The floors, tables, and chairs were wooden, giving the place the smell of a forest. Sam crossed the floor to the bar counter and he sat.

"What can I get you, hon?"

Sam looked up at the bartender, a middle-aged lady with warm brown eyes. She looked a little like Ellen, too. "Beer, please."

She brought him a tall glass, watching the young man for a moment. Then she wiped the counter with a damp cloth. "Everything alright, hon?"

Sam breathed out a small laugh. "No."

"Off work today?"

He laughed again, sipping the cool beer. "I'm never off work."

"Having a bad day?"

"Oh, no. No, never."

"You're lying to me."

Sam met her eyes. Her eyebrows were raised skeptically, mouth set in a firm line, trying to look stern. He shook his head. "Sorry. Yeah, I'm having a bad day, I guess. Of course, this has been every day of my life for the past year." He looked back down at the counter, swirling the beer around in a circle.

"Wanna talk about it, hon?"

Sam snorted softly. "Not really."

She was about to say something else when his phone rang. Sam pulled it out. The screen said it was Dean. Taking a breath, Sam flipped it open. "He-"

"Sam, where are you?"

Sam raised his eyebrows, heart beating a little faster. "What's wrong?"

"Where are you?" Dean barked.

"I—I'm at the bar."

"The bar…holy crap. I'll be there in a moment."

Dean hung up, and Sam slowly pulled the phone away, staring at the screen. He noticed the lady watching him with wonder. Sam shook his head. "My day probably just got a whole lot worse."

Two minutes later, Dean walked into the bar, scanning the room and locating Sam in an instant. He was one of the five people sitting in the bar, understandable due to the fact that it was two-thirty on a Tuesday.

Sam turned and watched Dean head towards him, not bothering to stand up. "What's wrong, Dean?"

"Can we talk outside?"

Sam clenched his jaw and followed Dean out the bar doors. When they were out, Dean turned on Sam. "What were you thinking heading off by yourself?"

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, I don't know, I thought there was a Kamenwati somewhere in the town. I happen to remember he tried to kill you back at the museum. This means you could still be a target."

Sam sighed. "I can defend myself, Dean."

"Well, what you did was stupid. We should stick together."

Dean turned towards the Impala, but Sam caught his shoulder, turning him around. "Dean, I'm trying so hard to stick with you, but it's impossible when you don't care about a case."

Dean frowned. "I do care. I'm just not jumping up and down like you are."

"Okay. Fine. But tell me this. Why did you say I sounded like dad back there? Huh? Tell me that, Dean."

Dean looked down. "Can we talk about this at the motel room?"

Sam rubbed his eyes, trying to calm down. "Sure. Of course, Dean."

They drove in silence back to the motel. Dean walked in before Sam, clearly upset. Sam lagged behind, trying to decipher the thoughts behind his older brother's attitude. This wasn't Dean. Dean was cut and dry, fight to the death, take crazy risks, but not complicated like this. Something was wrong. Dean was keeping something from him, Sam was sure of it.

Dean entered in the motel room and Sam followed. When he closed the door, Sam started off right away. "Look, Dean, I—."

Dean spun around, pushing Sam up against the wall, forearm pressing against his neck. His eyes were no longer hazel green, but deep, dark, and soulless.

Sam breathed out. How did he not see it?

This wasn't Dean. This was the Kamenwati.


	5. Chapter 5

Sam struggled for breath, forcing himself to stay calm. Maybe he could talk some sense into the soul that was possessing his brother. Maybe his brother was still in there. Maybe…

Dean pushed harder and Sam felt sweat drip into his eyes as he pushed back, working to keep Dean's forearms from crushing his throat. "Dean," Sam gasped, "stop. This isn't you."

"Oh, no," the Kamenwati replied, "this isn't Dean. This is very much I, the king."

Sam groaned, muscles trembling from the strain. The Kamenwati made Dean much stronger. "What do you want with me?" His voice was barely audible.

"So, so much, Sammy. See, you are the ultimate soul. My final food. Once I eat you, dear boy, I can once again be whole."

Sam pushed back again, gasping for air. "But why me?"

"You and your brother—who I also will eat, for dessert, - are descendants of Cane and Abel, brothers from one of the oldest, most famous feuds in history."

Sam summoned up all the strength he could manage and swept Dean's feet from under him. The Kamenwati tripped, losing its choking position, stumbling back from the wall. Sam spun around, dove for the table, and grabbed the knife that sat there. He cut his upper forearm and yanked the arm bone from the bag by the door, dousing it in his blood.

The Kamenwati tackled him from behind, knocking the bone away. Sam watch it slide across the floor and bump into the door. The Kamenwati didn't seem to pay much attention to it. The creature flipped Sam onto his back, lowering Dean's head to Sam's chest. Dean mouth opened and suddenly, Sam felt his insides start to push against his skin.

His heart threatened to ripe out of his chest, along with whatever else the Kamenwati wanted. Sam twisted back, straining to reach the bone. His fingers reached out and finally touched the bone. He snatched it back, just when he thought his insides would burst out everywhere, and, mumbling sorry to Dean, thrust the bone, covered in his own blood, into Dean's stomach.

The Kamenwati snapped Dean's mouth shut, and the young man fell backwards, clutching the bone. Dean thrashed about on the floor like a demon inside him was fighting to break free, then, almost as suddenly, he was still.

Sam sat up, holding his throbbing chest, and crawled over to his groaning brother. "I'm so sorry," he whispered. "Come on, Dean, look at me."

Dean's eyes fluttered open after a few long moments, pain written across them. "Okay," Sam said, "stay with me now." He eased the bone, thankfully not buried too deep, out of Dean's stomach, wincing at the vicious blood flow. He took off his shirt, pressing it against the wound, and called 9-1-1.

Sam watched Dean through the glass outside the hospital room, the policeman's words fading into the haze of his thoughts. How did he do that so easily? An hour ago, he stabbed his brother without any hesitation or second guessing. His brother. Dean. The one person he looked up to.

"Son, are you listening?"

Sam turned to look at the policeman. "What? Sorry, what were you saying?"

The policeman sighed. "I was asking what exactly Mr. Winchester was stabbed with."

"Oh, right. Uh, it was a knife. The man burst into through the motel door, grabbed a kitchen knife, and stabbed Dean before I could react. I wasn't able to catch him either."

"Pretty large knife, huh?"

"Um, yes, sir, it was."

The policeman nodded. He watched Dean for a moment, then patted Sam on the shoulder. "I hope your brother is okay. We'll be looking for his attacker, and will keep you posted."

"Yes, sir. Thank you."

He walked away. Sam watched him leave then looked at the door as the nurse walked from the hospital room. She smiled at Sam. "He's responding. Feel free to talk with him."

Sam mumbled a thanks and headed into the room. He slowly shut the door behind him, taking in the gentle beeping of the heart monitor and the bag of blood hanging above the bed.

When Sam finally looked down at his brother, Dean was already watching him. "You look horrible," Dean commented, eyebrow raised.

Sam snorted. "You kind of just tried to rip my heart of my chest back at the motel."

Dean rested his head back against the pillow. "The Kamenwati…"

"Yeah. I…I think it's dead."

"It better be after that."

A moment later, a knock sounded on the room door, and it cracked open. Bobby stood in the doorway. "I got here as soon as I could. How are you doing, Dean?"

Dean glanced up at the bag of blood. "I'm wonderful, thanks."

"Good to hear." Bobby stepped in and closed the door behind him. "So you, uh, killed the Kamenwati soul that controls them all?"

"We hope so," Sam replied. "It was in Dean."

"I'm so glad I wasn't conscience for that," Dean muttered.

"You don't remember anything?"

Dean hesitated. "The last thing I remember is looking at Mr. William's backyard."

Sam breathed out. "So that's when it possessed you."

"I guess. All I know is I woke up bleeding to death in a hospital emergency room a half an hour ago."

Sam compressed his lips, glancing at Bobby. He hoped either Dean didn't think Sam stabbed him or that he just chose to drop it before it was brought up. Either would be find.

Dean chuckled, and Sam and Bobby looked over. "What?" Bobby grunted.

Dean looked over at his brother, sighing in defeat. "Happy Birthday, Sammy."


End file.
